After nibbling at his food,
our old dog’s sleeping
again, breathing heavily.
We say, “Well, he’s old. Maybe
that’s all it is.” The birds come
to the feeder. We don’t know them.
We assume we know our dog
who barks when it’s time
for his walk or to pee. Was
it because of us and biscuits
that he alchemized from
abandonment into one of us?
Damn anyone who calls us
sentimental for our years
of loving him like family.
We believe in the comfort
of his wag, his lying every night
amid our long and given marriage.
No one asks for loneliness.